Something Was Different
by yararebird
Summary: When the healed heals the healer. Early warnings for rape/hallucination/mental illness. Later warning for shameless Kit/Jude shipping.
1. Team Player

He wasn't quite certain what he'd been thinking. Bringing a crazy woman into his house? Kit Walker sat on the couch in his living room, elbows on knees, head in his hands. She was moaning. It was a nearly constant soundtrack for the last three days. He sent the kids to stay with neighbors as much as possible - mainly in the evenings. That was when it seemed the worst.

Jude slept most of the day. Rail thin, vomiting curses and orange bile in the spring sunsets. She was a wraith almost. A shadow of the domineering nun he'd known all those years ago. Her hair was a mass of mats. He'd given up trying to sort it. That could wait. For the most part, he was happy just to get a few sips of broth into her in her moments of consciousness.

She'd stunk like a skunk, too. When he first brought her home he'd had to let down the windows in the truck. She reeked of filth, fear and something irony - like blood. He wasn't even sure. But getting her into a bath was pure fucking Hell.

For all of her weakness, she'd fought like a devil. All bone, she'd elbowed her way into a corner of the tiny bathroom and coiled like a striking snake. He'd managed to get her mostly undressed and Christ… He wasn't sure what those bruises all over her body meant, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. But he had a feeling it explained why she'd struggled so against his ministrations. And once she was in the clawfoot tub it was certainly no better. The bathroom practically flooded from her flailing.

"I'm not tryna drown you, Jude! For fuck's sake!" He'd been as gentle as possible considering she'd nearly scratched his eyeball out with those unkempt talons on her fingers. "Relax! Relax." A near choke hold had finally brought her to a semblance of peace that was more like defeat. She went lax and whimpered in his arms. "I'm just gonna clean ya up a little, I promise. Kay?" Exhaustion won the battle. He'd managed to soap the mass of filthy blonde curls, worried less about the mats until later. The kitchen sauce pot sluiced grey water over an emaciated body that had probably once been pure dynamite.

He tried not to look. Tried not to wince at the scrapes, the outright cuts and various stages of purple, green, and even black spreading spots. "What the fuck did they do to you in there, Jude?" He murmured. His throat closed. Was this her retribution, he wondered? For all the beatings she'd administered in the name of God? Somehow, it still didn't seem fair. Seemed a little overkill in his mind's eye.

He'd been as prepared as possible. All the Briarcliff visits leading up to her freedom had informed him what size gowns he needed for her. They were soft and comfortable. He wanted her comfortable. For some reason, he wanted her happy. Soft slippers peaked from beneath the guest bed. He pulled her shivering body out of the tub with promises of a nice warm bed. But her knees had given way in the bathroom door.

If _anyone _had told him five years or five days ago that he would be carrying a naked, wet Sister Jude across the threshold of his second bathroom he would have told them to shut the fuck up. Would have insisted that person _belonged _in the hallowed halls of Birarcliff Manor. But here they were. He perched her on the edge of the bed. It was like dressing a spider. Her arms were gaunt and angular. He'd gotten her covered and gave up the fight himself. Hell, let her live without knickers for a while. He was worried the ones he'd acquired would fall off her, anyway. Sluice down those long, battered legs like cotton snowdrifts…

She'd slept for 29 hours straight. He held a mirror underneath her nose twice. She was alive. Part of him rejoiced at the peace. But _that _was short lived.

Kit tended to wake dry mouthed. Crusty eyed. He needed coffee to start his engine. His kids woke like tiny comets hurling through a galaxy of constant discovery. Delightful. A normal household morning.

This new guest woke screaming.

It was jarring at first. He'd rushed through the house in terror, burst into her room to find her under the bed, puddles of sick streaked by the hem of her gown. "Jude!" Her ankle was the closest limb and he'd grabbed it. Mistake.

"Daddy?" Julia.

Panicked, he'd looked up at his kids in the doorframe. "Go back to bed," he assured. "She's alright. I promise." Just in time for Jude to land a kick right to his plexus. "Fuck!" His kids bolted. Clutching his chest, he yanked. "C'mere, goddamnit!"

Pinning the wiry woman to the floor, he started getting a more solid idea where those bruises came from. "What in the name of all that is holy did they have you on in there?" He bit out. "Pure powder? Jesus!" The fight lasted an eternal twelve minutes before she again went limp from exhaustion. "It's alright, Jude." He panted, cursing himself for ever doing this. "You're alright." She'd turned her head and puked on his hand.

Days. Interminable _days_ of distressing detox. And nights. Nights being the worst. The groans. The retching. The miserable, gut-wrenching weeping. And nothing to be done, really. Water, which she could barely keep down. Towels drenched in sweat, sick and other more unsavory excretions. "I promise you," he whispered one night, stroking her back as she heaved into a mixing bowl. "I promise you, Jude, that we will never speak of this again. Someday, when you're...better. You won't remember any of this. And I swear I will never remind you. Okay?"

A moan. A puke. And then - so quietly he almost missed it: "Thank you."

The first sensible words she'd spoke in nearly a week. He could have wept relief. Maybe he did. A little. He nuzzled the back of her still matted head. "You're welcome."

The day she'd walked - dressed and robed - into the kitchen was an absolute revelation. They'd frozen at the table. Him and his kids. Stared at the wobbly woman in the doorway who tried a smile on chapped lips. "Jude," he said softly.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Kit Walker." Her voice was cracked ice. Eyes red and rimmed with dark circles, she'd focused on the children. "Hello."

"Hey." Julia, after a pause.

Jude took a shaky look around, something like fear creeping into her gaze. She swayed a little. "Woah, there!" Kit was quick to catch her. Light as a feather. "Come on here, lady." He lifted her bridal style. "Back to bed." But he smiled over his shoulder at his children's hopeful faces. "Hey, guys. Why don't ya pour our Jude some of that carrot juice, huh?"

It was calmer after that. She was still weak, gaining strength with every cup of broth, every glass of juice, every bowl of soup. She kept it down now. And the children didn't fear _this _Jude - the quiet, gentle woman who let them put flowers in her tangles and chuckled at their tall tales. He limited their visit times, wanting to keep her rested. But he had a feeling she would have kept them at her side all day if she could.

And the morning he woke to the sound of bath water running, he smiled at the ceiling. He was making French toast when she padded into the living room, joined the kids where they colored pony pictures on the rug. He stared. Her hair was golden and curled down her back, smooth. She looked like a different person, especially when she smiled. Thomas handed her the crayon box, and her shaky fingers became a little more certain.

Good days.

They almost made up for the bad days. The days when Briarcliff reared its ugly head in a beautiful woman. They days when the confusion won in her brain's struggle to adapt. The days she shouted, swung the broom, threatened and cursed like a sailor on furlough. His kids formed a secret sort of cabal on those days, hunkered in their tree house, peeking out the window to watch their father wrestle a woman and her demons - her ghosts.

Because they were more than hallucinations. Too lucid to her - too damn real. Mysteries to him, but hauntings to her.

"I'm a rare bird." She paced the kitchen, pulling at shed hair. "Rara Avis. Ista est mea creatura." He had no fucking clue what she said. Was it even real language? Or was it just gibberish? "I'll love Rome. Mother Superior. They'll address me as Mother Superior."

"Jude?" He tried to get her attention. It failed. "Sister Jude?" When that didn't work, he fed the fire. "Mother Superior."

She paused, blinked at him, leaning against the sink. "Bless you child," she reached for him, not walking toward him. "God. God forgives you." She dropped to her knees, suddenly weeping. "Mary Eunice!" She wailed. Pounded the woven rug. "Little sister, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry!"

"Christ, Jude." He knelt beside her, confident the swinging had passed. "It's alright. Hush." He pulled her into his lap, stroking her. "All that's over now…" But was it? He wondered, carrying her again to her bed. Was it _ever _going to be over for her?

"You're a little warm, there, Jude." He observed, hand to her forehead. He worried. Was she getting sick? On top of being...sick? She shivered in response. "Alright. Hang on." He bundled her into the thick comforter, swaddled her and settled her upright in a mountain of pillows. "I'm gonna get ya some pills."

"No!" She groaned.

"Just for yer fever," he assured. "Just some acetaminophen. Yeah?" She nodded, his words penetrating the fog. "Right. I'll be right back." She took the meds with no fight, blessedly. Even drank all the orange juice. "Now. Get some sleep." He kissed her clammy forehead. "And we'll have a nice dinner tonight. Kay?" She was already drifting when he left her.

"You guys okay?" He poked his head up into the tree house entrance.

Thomas nodded, clutching his tattered teddy bear. "Is Jude okay?" Julia asked.

"She will be." Kit joined them, sitting Indian style in the squat tree hut. "I'm sorry, you two. I know this has been...hard."

"We love Jude." Thomas said.

Kit's heart melted a little. "Already?" He asked, chuckling. "It's hard to love somebody who threatens ta beat the hell out of ya, though."

"She can't help it." Julia defended, looking at Thomas. "We can help her."

"You two _are _helping her." Kit pulled his kids to him, squeezing them hard. In hindsight, he would regret dismissing their offer of help. "We're all helping her together." But his doubt was strong. And seeing the worry in his children's eyes only strengthened those doubts. "We'll get through this." _Somehow_, he added silently.

Jude slept through dinner. It wasn't too surprising. Kit checked in on her, touching her forehead. She was much cooler than earlier. The fever was dropping. He sighed relief.

Thomas and Julia went to the Whaleys' house that night. The neighbors were kind, and had two similarly aged children. They understood somewhat what Kit was going through, assuming that Jude was an ill family member. Full explanations could wait until Jude was herself enough (whoever herself was) for proper introductions. For now, they welcomed his kids with open arms and he was beyond grateful, able to rest himself a bit and focus on the recovering guest when needed.

But tonight, she was quiet. One final check around ten found her sleeping, still propped and wrapped, but peaceful. "Good night, Jude." He stroked a shank of curl behind her ear. She squirmed a bit, a tiny murmur escaping. "I'll see you in the morning."

He fell asleep watching TV in his underwear and naught else. Some mindless comedy with canned laughter lowly lulling him to dreamland. The boisterous voices at low volume bled into something else. He woke confused, and listened.

"No!" It was Jude. "Get away from me! You - you left me. Ya bastard! You left me!"

"Jude?" Kit was tense in her doorway, prepared for a rough night. "Hey. It's me. Kit." He climbed onto her bed.

She struggled in the heavy duvet, fighting an invisible something. Or someone. "What do you want?" She wept, burying her face in a pillow. "Why now? Don't touch me!" She kicked out at Kit when he reached over her, attempting to loosen the quilt. "Get the fuck away from me! Nooo!"

"Jude! Shhh, sh, sh!" He reached for her thrashing head. "It's me! It's Kit! I'm just gonna -"

"Please, don't," she mewled quietly. Moaned. Her body arced in the blanket. "Please don't do this…"

"Damn, Jude." He could barely get a hand on the blanket's edge. She writhed so passionately. He watched a gamut of emotions play on her carved face in the moonlight. "What's goin' on in that head of yers?" He asked.

But if he'd known, he would have writhed in Hell with her…

Her Hell was her cell in Braircliff. It was smaller than she remembered. The walls closed in on her. And she wasn't alone. "Judy, Judy, Judy…"

Jude pressed further into the dank corner. "Sis...Sister Mary Eunice?"

"The same." The young nun's face was ghost white. Her eyes glowed green. "What do you think you're doing, hm? You think you can escape your fate?" She stepped toward Jude. "You think you _deserve _to be saved?"

"Eunice." Jude trembled. Her voice trembled, too. "You - you aren't this person." Shakily, her hand reached for Eunice's face. "You were...you were the best part of me."

"I was _never _a part of you." Eunice snatched the hand by the wrist and Jude cried out in pain. "C'mere you old whore!" The demon's breath was hot on her cheek. "You treated me like shit. Remember that?"

"No!" Jude struggled against what was now a solid embrace. "I wanted ta save ya, Eunice! I tried to -"

"To kill me?!" Eunice laughed a ringing, evil laugh. "Well, you failed. Like so many other ways you _failed. _Isn't that right, Father?"

Jude's breath hitched when hands slid up her arms, rubbing her shoulders. "Rare bird."

"No!" She struggled again, sandwiched between two tormentors. "Timothy?"

"Yes, Sister." His mellow voice caressed her ear. "It's me. Your confessor." A soft, masculine hand brushed her dirty hair away from her neck before lips descended. "My right hand. Why did you betray me?"

"Me?!" She whirled away from Eunice. The little sister slinked into shadow, disappearing with a vile grin. "I nevah betrayed you! You left me here ta rot! You -"

"I would have taken you to Rome, Rara Avis." The gentle hand on her hair became a violent yank. Jude cried out at the pain. "I would have taken you…" He pulled her flush against him, the hand on her back sliding down to squeeze her ass roughly. "I would have taken you anywhere."

The handsome face she remembered was dark and demented now, twisted somehow. Leering and lusty. "And you would have loved it." He chuckled when she squirmed, twirling her beneath his arm to trap her back to his front. "All those glorious fantasies, Jude." His hand at her belly slid up, up, tracking her short, tattered patient's gown with it until he kneaded a breast - hard. "You would have melted in my mouth like your coq au vin." He licked lewdly up the side of her neck.

"Stop!" She cried.

"You don't want me to stop, Jude. You would _never _have asked me to stop, would you?" He sat on the filthy mattress, pulling her awkwardly onto his lap. His wiry knees spread her legs. "You would have _begged _for me to continue." One hand tilted her chin up, the grip strong, while the other sluiced down her stomach and into the crotch of her thin, skewed panties. She couldn't control the moan, the arch of her body into the sickening fingers slicking her moisture sloppily onto her thighs. His lips spoke at the corner of her mouth. "I want to give you _my_ coq...au vin, Jude." And she felt the evidence of his innuendo pressing between her ass cheeks. "I want to fill you with my holy spirit."

"Please…" She begged quietly, throat straining against his grip. Her hands jostled desperately for purchase as he lay back, taking her with him.

"Please what?" He asked, plunging three rough fingers into her cunt. She lunged at the burn, an animal cry escaping. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?" But his other fingers plunged into her mouth, stopping any response. His hand moved harsh between her widely spread legs, fucking her, and the cell, the cot, the dank four walls began to shimmer, to morph and reality started to settle. "It's time for your absolution, Sister."

His knees rose, boosting her on his lap and she felt his hot, hard cock seeking at her cunt. "Gaaaahhh!" She tried to scream for help, choking on his fingers. She bit - to no avail. He seemed to feel no pain.

His arms were like the tentacles of a great octopus. She was smothering, struggling, and all of a sudden there was another. Another face before hers. The shimmer of a bedroom - a touch of soft moonlight. A kind face. _Kit! _

She tried to reach for the face, wrenching her mouth from the stabbing fingers. "Save me!"

"I'm right here, Jude." Kit stroked her cheek. Timothy licked the trail Kit's gentle fingers left behind. "I gotcha."

"We've both got you, Jude." The Monsignor assured darkly. He was sliding inside her, splitting her in two. She screamed. Timothy Howard laughed at her pain, beginning to raise and lower her with ease. "After I have you, he'll have you, too."

"No! Please!" Over Kit's shoulder, Eunice watched the rape with rampant glee. "Kit! Ugh!"

Kit's arms wrapped her now, making her feel all the more suffocated. "It's alright, Jude. Hold onto me. It's almost over." He was lifting her, pulling her from the monster's arms. But the monster followed, taking advantage of their new position by pounding her from behind. "I gotcha!" Kit repeated.

"Nooooooo!" She could only wail, her hand reaching past him.

Mary Eunice reached, too, not quite touching her fingers. Mary Eunice now - _not_ a demon. "Oh, Sister…" She whispered.

"Save me!" Jude wept helplessly. The burn in her cunt was tearing. She could smell her own sweat, her own blood. Kit took hold of her reaching arm, stepped in front of Eunice's sweet face.

"Jude, it's alright!" He assured. "C'mere, dammit!" One more harsh pull brought her against him. He was hard, too, his cock rubbing her thigh. "Sshhhh, shhh, sh." He tried to soothe her, brushed her hair from her face. She felt Timothy's slick hands sliding beneath her knees, opening her again.

"Take her, Mr. Walker." The priest insisted. "You wanted her. _So save her." _A swift exchange and suddenly Kit was sliding inside her, easily taking over Timothy's place. Still the Monsignor held her arms taut against her sides, stopping her struggle. "Time for you to be a _team player_, Sister." She groaned at the new intrusion, unable to resist the pleasure tickling in her belly, threatening to spread like wildfire.

"Hush, Jude." Kit moved slowly, his hips rhythmic between her thighs. "There now. It's alright. Christ, Jude! Let me hold ya! It's okay!"

It was _not _okay. Timothy's hardness was now insistently poking at her tense asshole. She panicked between the two men. Eunice stood close behind Kit, smiling patiently now. "Jude." The young nun spoke clearly. Firmly. Just as the priest's cock penetrated painfully her resistant rear, Eunice spoke again. "_Judy. _This is _not_ happening."

Jude's reality was nightmare.

Kit's nightmare was reality. He'd managed to release Jude's legs from the heavy blanket, somehow sliding between them in their struggle. But his elbow caught the quilt around her upper body. She tossed and struggled within its grip so vehemently that he couldn't seem to right himself. "Jude." He spoke clearly, cupped her face. "_Judy. _This is _not_ happening."

She froze, mouth open but no sound emerging. Her body tensed so powerfully he was afraid she was seizing. He took advantage of the moment to rip at the blanket, finally freeing the poor woman. "Jude!"

Her arms flew around his neck. She wailed, weeping worse than he'd ever heard her. He held her, too. Completely knackered and beyond relieved his children weren't home to see them this way.

One long, creamy leg curled over his hip. She held onto him like a frightened girl. But her body moved as though recovering from some passionate ecstasy and his own body couldn't help responding. Pleasure zinged from his balls up his back every time she undulated against him. "Jude," he murmured into her hair. Rubbed at her temples. "Judy, you have ta stop…" But it was too late. He couldn't help rutting quickly, desperately against her soft mons as he came in his tighty whities. "Fuck," he spat. "Jude. I'm so fuckin' sorry."

She whimpered. She didn't seem to notice what had occurred, finally calming enough to breathe. He heard snot rattling in her nose. Felt tears on his bare shoulder. He swallowed heavily and pulled back enough to touch her face. "Jude? You with me? You here?"

"Mmhm." Her eyes were closed. She was shaking.

"Where are you, Judy?" He asked softly.

Finally her eyes opened just slits. He watched her eyeballs dance in the moonlight, taking in her surroundings. "Kit…"

"Yeah. Kit."

"I'm...with you."

"That's right. You're with me, Jude." He pressed his nose to her hairline. Took a deep breath. "You had a hell of a nightmare."

"I had…" But she began to weep quietly, curling in his embrace. "I'm home."

"Yes. You're home, Jude."

"Home…"

He shifted them in the bed, sliding behind her, ignoring the sticky mess in his shorts. He was hot as hell, sweating from that...struggle. He pulled the blanket over her fetal form. Spooned her. "Sleep, Judy. Yer home." He held her tightly while she cried herself to sleep.

She was _still_ asleep come eight am. Kit had showered and dressed. Lingered in her doorway, watching the peaceful rise and fall of her chest. His forehead creased. _Jesus. What happened last night? _His own shame pricked at his cheeks, flushing him hotly. _Hopefully, she won't remember._

He worked in the garden distracting himself. His kids trotted home around ten, flying open-armed into the garden to greet him. "Dad!"

He swung them one by one, laughing. "You guys have a good time with the Whaleys last night?"

"Yeah." Julia plucked a ripe tomato, rubbing it on her dirty jeans. "How is our Jude?"

He hesitated. "I think she's fine." He looked to the house. He could see Jude inside. She'd gotten up only moments earlier. He hadn't gone in yet to greet her. "She had kind of a bad night, but…" He pointed to her through the window. "Looks like she's okay ta me." She was sweeping the kitchen, actually. "You two go on in and see her. I'm gonna take care of these crazy beans." He watched the kids flap through the back door before turning back to the sprawling bean plants. They'd been neglected these last weeks and had taken over the cucumber plot. Kit bent, wrangling them back into shape, not thinking about last night.

A crash and shouting interrupted his not thinking. "Oh, no." He leapt over cabbages, running inside the house. Julia streaked past him, squealing. Thomas tore past, too. Jude chased them both, broom brandished like a weapon.

"We don't have a children's ward!" She wailed. That look was in her eyes. That look from last night. That familiar look that told him she wasn't _here_.

"Dammit," he muttered. "Jude!" She whirled, knocking over more decor. A lamp. Pictures. Glass shattered. "Jude, stop!"

But she turned her threats to him. Brandished the broom like a cane. Called him a murderer. It was too much. Especially in front of his kids. The temptation to slap the hell out of her was strong. He lunged for her, grabbed her arms, shaking sense. "Jude. This is _not _Briarcliff and you will _not _hit my kids!"

There was defeat in her. Such loss. She crumbled, weeping, confused. He couldn't go on. He couldn't do this. It was the most ridiculous idea, anyway. He felt himself crumbling, too. He'd let her down. She would have to go back - back to Briarcliff. They simply couldn't go on this way. She was too volatile, too far gone, too -

"It's alright, dad."

His children were fearless. They took Jude's hands. Kit could feel the love when they gazed up at her - out of it as she was. He felt his own fear dissipate as they tugged the woman toward the door. He watched in wonder as they walked her past the garden. He stood on the back porch, staring until the odd trio disappeared in the distance, just over the edge of the forest.

Strangely enough, he didn't worry.

Even three hours later he didn't worry. A hush had fallen over the house. A heavy warm wind blew past, rustling the trees and the crazy beans. He sat on the back porch steps, waiting. And when he saw the trio appear again - just at the edge of the forest…

Something was different.


	2. Secret Smile

It was almost too good to be true. So much so in fact that Kit and the children still tiptoed around their guest as if she might at any moment explode into a literal flaming rage, burning the house to the ground and whirling like a dervish through town, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake. Not that the guest seemed to notice. She simply lived. Went about each day as airy as an angel. She seemed to ignore their hesitant glances and concerned stares.

She'd ceretainly made herself at home. She adopted the kitchen as her own - not that Kit minded. He _could _cook - just not well. And Jude was as confident in the kitchen as if she was born in it. In fact, he and the children discovered a great delight: whatever they put in the refrigerator, she cooked! Chicken, pork, beef - it didn't matter. She created something brilliant with it. If there was flour in the cabinets and sugar and butter and eggs - there was cake! It was pure genius.

Kit could tell he was gaining weight from the increased deliciousness in the house because his pants - previously taken up by Alma - had to be let out by Jude...who also sewed. She mended clothes that had languished torn, too tight, too loose, frayed, or unraveling for far too long. The machine whirred comfortingly most afternoons while Kit lounged on the couch and the kids played. Soon, they had super hero capes, contentedly 'flying' around the backyard and fighting the forces of evil.

So they adapted. The guest was clearly improved. She smiled all the time, with teeth when Kit made some joke or other. But typically she wore a sort of secret smile. Kit thought it was kind of...sexy.

Hell. Jude was...sexy. He rubbed at his face, watching her over the couch back one evening as she hummed at the sink. She swayed with the little stereo. She'd filled out - like him - her own cooking creating hips and curves. And the hair was a nice touch; inches upon inches of golden ringlets and waves, sometimes piled loosely, sometimes spilling over shoulders, sometimes pony tailed high on her head… But always beautiful. Suddenly she laughed. She had a deep, rich laugh.

"What is it?" Kit's brows rose.

"Yar children." She nodded out the kitchen window. "Looks like they found a mud hole somewhere."

"Oh no."

"Go hose 'em off, Kit!" She pointed. "They can't track all that filth inta this clean house!"

He chuckled as he hosed off the kids. Jude watched from the porch steps, secret smile in place and head shaking. Thomas' and Julia's teeth chattered in their grins. "Come on, ya little dirt bags," Jude winked. "It's showers far you two."

And after showers, it was bedtime. New traditions had taken hold quickly. Jude was in charge of story time. Kit enjoyed her reading with the children, all sprawled across the two twin beds, listening to Kipling's _Just So Stories_. Jude had a way with accents, bringing life to each character. She was animated and...gorgeous, lit warmly by the scarf-draped lamps. The children stared at her rapt by the tales she spun. Kit stared at her rapt by the spun silk spilling over her tan skin. His eyes drooped with Thomas'. Julia yawned. And Kit dragged himself to action.

"Alright." He announced. "Bed."

The tuckered two grumbled good naturedly, but scrambled beneath their quilts just the same. Their father gave good-night hugs, kissing each cheek or forehead softly. But Jude attacked with vengeance, kissing, nuzzling, and growling playfully into their bellies, backs or whatever body parts their squealing squirms allowed her to reach. Kit watched from their doorway, laughing.

And then, their own tradition. With the house quiet, the adults lounged on the front porch. Kit typically nursed a beer. Sometimes Jude joined him, but tonight she sipped a coffee. He noticed. "You tired?"

"A little." She shrugged. Stretched her legs across the porch swing seat. He didn't look at them. She leaned on her elbow, completely relaxed, staring at him with her secret smile in place. "You?"

"Nah." He shook his head, back to a porch column. "I'm fine." He looked at his beer. "Hey, Jude."

"Hmmm?"

"I'm thinking of going back to work."

"You should."

"I think you'll be fine with the kids."

She nodded, thinking. "I feel better."

"I can tell." He chuckled. "I just want to make sure you'll be comfortable with them all day. Ya know. When they're not in school."

"I love those babies, Kit."

"Then it's perfect." He smirked at her. Crickets serenaded. She was like a carved statue in the moonlight - legs defined and muscular, jawline strong and sharp, hair glinting silver on gold. "I'm glad yer better, Jude."

She studied him for a moment, not speaking. The secret smile was missing for the first time in days. "Kit."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"Fer what, Jude?" He leaned forward on the step, picking at the label on his beer bottle.

Her eyes glistened. He could see the shimmer in them. "I remembah," she murmured. "Everything."

He blinked. "Everything?"

"No one should have had ta do the things you did far me. Not far a stranger. Not far...far someone who did to you what I did to you." A shimmer slid down her cheek. "I don't understand ya."

Kit swallowed thickly. _Everything_, he thought, dread tightening his throat. "What do you mean you don't understand?"

"Why'd ya bring me here?"

Kit shrugged. He wasn't certain he could put it in words. "I needed ta let go. Of Briarcliff. Of all that shit. And you were the last connection to it." She nodded, processing. "And...Jude. Ya woulda died in there. Sick and miserable and...outta yer fuckin' mind. And I don't think I coulda watched that happen."

She cried as secretly as she smiled. No sobs. No sniffles. Just crisp, sleek tears sliding over those crafted cheekbones. She wiped at her face. Her coffee cup dangled empty from her fingers. "That's fair."

"Jude?"

"Hm?"

"Will you - will you tell me what happened? With the kids the othah day? When they took you to the woods?"

The secret smile returned, swift and automatic. Her lovely lips worked. "Do you…" She had to sit up for this. "Do you believe in angels?"

Kit winced. How to tell an ex-nun you're not particularly religious? "Er. No. I don't." He raised a steadying hand. "But that's not ta say they're not real! I've just nevah -"

Jude shook her head, stopping him. "Kit. I'm not gonna send ya ta confessional. I'm not Sistah Jude anymore."

He let his gaze skate down her body. "That's fer sure." She blushed brightly enough for him to see in the dim. He cleared his throat. Changed the subject. "So you uh...you saw an angel?"

She tisked, flopping back into the swing. It creaked as she set it in motion. "I know you won't believe me."

"You didn't believe me once."

She stared at him. Her eyes narrowed. "That's true."

"Doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"Also true." She seemed satisfied. The secret smile creeped back.

"So...you saw some angels?"

She thought. Ran a hand through her long locks, pushing it away from her face. "Yeah. Yeah, I saw some angels."

"I believe you." And he did.

He went back to work the next day. And just in time. Funds were running low and the kids needed new shoes. Plus, it was good to get his hands dirty again. Good to have the simple pleasure of fixing cars. He'd always been keen on engines, and he was a quick study. He fell quickly into the role of mechanic. Not to mention, it was great to come home to Jude and the kids. It felt like...a family again.

And Jude was great. Just perfect. Dinner ready. Kids cleaned. Homework done (if there was any). Laundry put away. She even made him leave his greasy coveralls on the porch. Fussed at him if he forgot to take his shoes off. Had a cold beer waiting for him. And after the kids went to bed, they talked. About everything. About nothing. The secret smile encouraged him to open up. He told her about Alma. He explained Grace.

And she told him about Briarcliff. And Mary Eunice. And Arthur Arden. And Oliver Thredson. And Timothy Howard.

And Kit started to understand some of the things behind the secret smile. The secrets of freedom, of release, of justice, of pain and false hope. The secret of _real _hope. Of love unconditional. She taught him a lot. And the kids, too. How to sew, how to dance, how to live for the moment. Her confidence grew exponentially, turning her more into a woman and less into Sister Jude. She was a nurturer. A confidante. A mother figure for his kids and for him…

Well. Sometimes she felt for all the world like the perfect wife. With just a few things missing. Or really just one thing missing.

Although he tried not to focus on missing _that_. It was hard; he was human. And she smelled like warm sunlight and moved so certainly and gracefully and her hips swayed and her breasts brushed his chest when they danced and her hands patted his knee sometimes and she licked her lips sometimes and her eyes creased like a contented kitten's and that secret smile…

He tried not to focus on missing _that_.

"Where the kids?" He stomped his shoes on the rough mat at the door. The sunset behind him lit pinkish highlights in her hair.

"At the movies with the Whaleys." Jude handed him a cold beer. He hung his coveralls on the hook she'd installed. "They're staying the night."

"Oh." He rolled his head on a tense neck. "Well. They'll have a good time."

"Course they will." She pulled covered dishes from the oven. "Yar late today. Everything okay?"

"Two damn transmissions and a broken engine block." He served up roast beef and little potatoes. Ate a carrot slice right out of the pan. She leaned against the sink, watching him. No doubt she'd already eaten. "Had to leave one of those transmissions for Monday. Boyd's got to head into Boston fer a part."

Jude chuckled. "I doubt Boyd will mind the weekend getaway. Want anothah beer?"

"You gonna have one?"

"Sure." She popped two more cold ones and sat across from him. Propped her feet on an empty chair. (And was the hem a little bit shorter on that skirt? He could see her strong knees tonight - and a touch more thigh than he was used to.) "Boyd still fuckin' with that married woman?"

Kit cleared his throat. "Hell yes. Idiot."

Jude shook her head. "He's gonna get his ass kicked."

"Yeah. Her husband's a big son of a bitch."

"Life lessons." Jude shrugged. "I don't get it, though. Boyd's a nice lookin' fella. He could do bettah than some mom twenty years oldah than him."

"He's obsessed."

"It's unhealthy." She spooned more gravy onto Kit's potatoes. "Bitch must be rich."

"Nope. Broke as a joke."

"Hm." Jude's lips pursed. She crossed her legs. A bare foot bobbed in mid air. "Must be the sex, then."

Kit's eyes skated down smooth, exposed thigh. His throat went dry. He drank his beer. "Must be...pretty fucking good."

"Or pretty good fucking." She winked at him.

He busted out laughing. "I guess that's more um...more likely." They didn't talk about sex. Never had. It made Kit uncomfortable. She was making him uncomfortable tonight. Something about the secret smile was different. And her skirt definitely _was _shorter. And her hair was thicker and curlier than usual - still wet from a shower. And the top two buttons on her blouse were undone. "Roast is excellent, Jude."

"Thanks." She stood, clearing away now empty serving bowls. "Reason numbah two to get yarself an oldah woman."

"The cooking?" Kit grinned.

"Yep."

"What's reason number one?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, hands in the dishwater. "Ask Boyd."

"Oh." He flushed. "Right." He brought his dish over. She slid to the side, allowing him to wash it up. She rinsed it, smirking. Kit wanted to wrap his hands around her waist. Really feel how she'd thickened up. He remembered her skeletal body flailing in the guest bath; the bruises, cuts, and scratches. The ribs. Surely those bruises had faded. He bet her skin was soft and supple. Bet her breasts were nice heavy handfuls.

She reached across his crotch suddenly for the dish towel hanging from a drawer and he jumped. She paused, a sultry side eye. "Sorry," she breathed. But she took the towel painfully slowly, wrist barely brushing his crotch. She dried her hands and folded the towel neatly across the sink. He watched her, frozen.

"I'm gonna have a smoke." She gestured to the porch.

"I'll uh - I'll join ya in a minute."

"Kay." She patted his tummy as she walked away, the pat slipping into a fleeting stroke. Kit couldn't help his grunt and lurch.

He had to piss. Leaned over his toilet for a full minute, erection making this difficult. "What the fuck?" He whispered to himself. He needed to get it together. "It's Jude," he murmured, zipping up. "It's fuckin' _Jude_."

Fuckin' Jude was lounging on the porch swing, legs stretched up and hair tumbling off the seat. Her toes were curled around the hanging chain. She was smoking leisurely, flicking ash over the swing back. Her free hand rested against her chest (where there might have been a _third _button undone now), fingers lightly brushing just above cleavage.

Kit ignored. He hopped up onto the porch railing near her. Gestured to the cigarettes on her belly. "May I?"

She extended the pack wordlessly, but when he nearly grabbed it, she snatched it back, chuckling. He gaped, hand out like a doofus. "Really?"

"Yar face!" She smiled, biting lip. "Here."

But again she snatched the cigarettes as soon as his fingers brushed the pack. "Oh, you are on some bullshit tonight!" He laughed.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry." She sobered. "Here. Far real this time." She held out the cigarettes. Kit stared at them. "Really!" She shook them at him. Hesitantly, he reached. Stopped. She still held them aloft, waiting. He reached a little further, watching her face suspiciously the entire time. Finally, he snatched them quickly. "I thought ya trusted me, Kit Walkah."

"Yer a piece of damn work, Judy Martin." He spoke around a cigarette, tapping his clothes. "Thought I had a lighter…"

"I got one." She drawled, eyes closing.

He looked down at her. She did indeed have a lighter. A slim silver Zippo snug against the bare skin of her chest. Kit prayed quietly for strength. "Can I use it?"

"I dunno." One eye opened up at him. "Can ya?"

His nostrils flared. "_May_ I use it?"

"Bettah." The eye closed again. "Yes, you may. Since ya have such nice mannahs." The secret smile was in full force.

He waited. She made no move to hand him the lighter. He cleared his throat. Still no acknowledgment. A heavy sigh. "Jude."

"Hm?"

"The lighter?"

She took a slow drag of her own cigarette. Discarded the butt with a dismissive flick. "What about it?"

"Jesus Christ, can I use it?"

"I said you could!" She snapped, fighting a laugh. "You don't have to ask the Heavenly Host."

"Well, would you-"

"Ya waiting far an invitation?" She interrupted. Fingers slipped alongside the Zippo, caressing herself gently. Down. The fingers slipped past the edge of open blouse until he saw the first real curve of breast.

"Yar serious." His balls ached. She gave him nothing. "Fuckin' fine." He slipped from his rail perch and rounded the swing, muttering. "Pain in the ass…"

But his hand genuinely shook as he reached for the device. The swing swayed ever so gently. His fingertips brushed skin and yes, it was as soft and as warm as he'd imagined. But Jude giggled, tickled probably, and the movement shifted the lighter down a little further. He had to chase it, trying not to think about the firm flesh pressing into the backs of his fingers. "Shit," he muttered, finally lighting his cigarette. "Not funny!" He stabbed the cigarette at her, pacing.

She turned on an elbow. It made the cleavage worse. He groaned, turning away. "I'm just trying to discourage yar bad habits," she apologized.

"Trust me. I could have _way _worse bad habits, Jude."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"What's gotten inta you tanight?" He asked her, incredulous. "How many beers did you have?"

"Just the one." The secret smile said. "Yar just tense is all. That bad day got ya all uptight."

He scoffed. "Jude -"

"You should relax more." She ran a foot down a leg. "Like me."

"I'll do that." Kit leaned on the railing now, well away from her. Stared out at the fireflies in the yard while he tried to discreetly adjust himself in his jeans. He heard her shift. Heard the swing creak. Soft footfalls.

"I need the lighta back."

"Yeah?" He finally looked at her. She'd perched herself on the railing now beside him, leaned into his space a little. "Too bad."

"Don't be mean." She poked his shoulder.

"Ow! _Me _mean?" His heart raced. He wondered if she would be doing this if she knew… "Jude." Her name was a warning.

"What?" She wiggled on the rail. And when she wiggled _everything _on her wiggled. "Come on, Kit." Her foot slipped past his thigh, nudged him closer, in between her dangling legs. She slipped a cigarette between plump lips, challenging. "Light my fire."

Something snapped. _Challenge accepted_, his cock said. "Fuckin' c'mere ta me," his mouth said. He cast his smoke into the yard. One arm wrapped her waist. Her gasp was victory. The cigarette tumbled forgotten from her lips. He grabbed her head, fingers tangling in gold silk. He pulled her mouth to his and as soon as he knew she wouldn't pull away the hand went for the flesh she'd offered earlier.

He gave up resistance and she didn't offer any. His fingers were swift in satin bra and he cupped firm flesh, groping, pinching an already hard nipple. "Ah!" Her head fell back and his kiss traveled sloppy down her chin, her neck. Her nails dug into his shoulders, legs wrapped his waist.

"Judy." He growled against her quickened pulse. "I'm gonna fuck the hell out of ya! I can't stop!"

"Don't stop!" She pulled his lips back to hers. Their tongues tasted each others' and her hands were between them. He realized in a haze of lust that she was unbuttoning her blouse, untucking. He helped, seeing she was steadied by her legs' hold on his waist.

"Christ, I want ya so bad." He pulled the blouse away from her body, tugging it roughly down her arms. It caught at her wrists and while she struggled to extract herself, he pulled the bra down, too, finally able to knead and suck at the woman revealed.

"Kit, that feels so good!" She moaned, legs tightening. The blouse hung from one wrist now. She embraced him, holding his head to her chest, one hand scrunching down his chest to his waistband. She fought with button and zipper. He took over, clumsily working jeans and undies over his captive hips.

"God, Jude." She boosted herself on the railing, hands pushing to raise her own hips. Kit held one leg, steadying her while his fingers wrapped the soggy crotch of her panties beneath bunched skirt. "I'll take ya inside," he whispered, nuzzling an exposed breast. "Ta bed. Ugh!" His dick brushed hot thigh.

"Fuck me here!" She snapped, embracing him. "Now!"

"Fine." The panties couldn't be helped. There was too much strategy involved and their brains had melted past the point of planning. So he rose on his toes, pulled the cotton and lace aside and slid inside the seductress.

They groaned in tandem. He gripped the rail with one strong arm and the woman with the other. She was panting in his ear. "Move," she moaned. "Please, Kit!"

So he did, tried to control his body's urge to take her like an animal but failed. The porch railing jarred with every thrust. He curled a creamy leg over his free elbow, opening her just a little more and apparently the angle was working magic in her cunt - or she was simply primed for passion - because she tightened on every plunge.

He wondered how it was possible. How had this really happened? How did he end up buried to the hilt in this woman? In this nun who once imprisoned him, beat his ass on multiple occasions with multiple beating instruments, subjected him to tortures even she didn't know about? And how had she become such an irresistible diabolical goddess? Wondering things was a temporarily effective distraction from the pressure, the pleasure building in his gut. _Temporarily effective. _

He couldn't go on much longer. "Jude." He kissed her ear. Her jaw. Her mouth. "I can't. I'm close. It's too good. I'm sorry." Each syllable was a threat to his waning stamina.

"Shit. Just a second," she whined. "Touch me, Kit!"

Yes, that would help. The arm holding her leg curled over it, fingers able to barely work their way into skewed panties and stroke that recalcitrant bud that blossomed like a hothouse orchid. "Please come for me, Jude." His voice was strained now, demanding. "If ya don't I'll have ta eat ya out on the porch swing."

"Promises, promises," she hissed. Her breath hitched. "Fastah!"

Fortunately, faster wasn't a problem. His back burned. Knees shook from the strain on his legs. But it was _so _goddamn worth it when she tensed, latched onto his neck like a vampire. She muffled a scream with a mouthful of flesh, teeth scraping. The seismic clenching in her cunt brought him to his own, shuddering, debasing release.

He pressed thumb hard to her clit, open mouth gorilla grunting into her hair as he pumped what felt like a lifetime's worth of hot, sticky semen into her willing well. "Ohhhh, Jude." Any tenderness he might have hoped to deliver was tempered when they both lost balance. He staggered backward, managing to right them both by swinging sideways against the rail. "Woah, you okay?" He was grinning like a fool. When he looked down at Jude pressed to his chest, she was, too.

"I'm fabulous," she hummed.

He laughed. Wasn't sure why. Might have been the adrenaline. Or the fact that his pants were around his ankles on his front porch. "Good thing we're so far back on the lot," he murmured into her hair.

"No doubt." She agreed, pushing hair away from her face. Coiling tendrils were wet with sweat. "God, Kit…"

"Don't tell me yer surprised."

"I wasn't sure," she admitted.

"Oh, please. You were askin' for it tonight."

"Yeah, I was." She chuckled. Patted his chest. "Ya did good."

"Thanks. Um…" He looked down at the state of them. "You wanna go in? Maybe move this to a bed?"

"You wanna take me ta bed?"

"Well, my porch has never exactly been ground zero for sexual activity."

"It is now." She cupped his jaw, searching his face for a moment. He met her eyes, not hiding anything. Finding what she was looking for, she stepped back. "Let's go, then."

They ended up in the tub, not the bed. Jude was eager to shed her leaky panties, and Kit had worked up a solid sweat between her thighs. So now she lounged between his thighs, hot water caressing them.

"We um...we doin' this now?" Kit asked.

The candles flickered - cast shadows on the bathroom walls. "Looks like it," Jude answered softly.

"Okay." He cupped her breasts again. "You have the greatest tits. Honestly, Jude. They're...just perfect."

"I'm glad you like 'em." She turned for a kiss.

They sighed contentedly. Kit rested his head against the tub rim, looking up at the fluttering light designs on the ceiling. "Jude?"

"Huh?"

"You know how you said you remembered everything?"

"Yeah."

He hesitated to broach the subject. "Do you remember almost two weeks ago? The night before the kids took you out to the woods. Before you saw the angels?"

She was quiet. He couldn't see her face. He hoped he hadn't injured this moment somehow. Hoped he hadn't resurrected demons better left dead. "I remember," she answered quietly.

He wrapped her tightly in his arms. "What were you dreaming, Jude? Or...or seeing? You were scarin' the hell out of me."

"Kit?"

"What?"

"I don't think I want to tell you that."

"That's fine, Jude." He kissed her ear. Gentled her. "That's okay. I just...I just wanted you to know that I was there."

"Oh, you were most definitely there."

"I didn't mean ta-"

She twisted suddenly, hushing him with her lips. "Stop. It's over. It was a - a horrible story. With a shitty ending. And I like the rewrite bettah."

Kit smiled at her. "I do, too."

Her hand started travelling. He moaned into their kiss as she stroked his renewed erection in the cooling bathwater. "I much prefer...happy endings."

"God, Jude." He stopped her wrist. "We're gonna flood the bathroom if we keep this up."

"So take me ta bed. Like a gentleman." She hissed when his fingers explored the difference between her wetness and their bath's wetness.

"Mmm. I can't guarantee I'll treat ya like a gentleman ought to when I get ya there."

"You bettah not." She stood over him, dripping, offered her hands to help him up.

"Nah, nah, nah." He kissed her knuckles before settling them on the shower pipe behind his head. "Hold on." Nudging her knee, he settled one foot on the tub's rim and buried his face in the trim blonde fur between her legs.

"Oh, Kit!" Her head rolled to a shoulder, jaw slack. "That's…God, it's been a long time." Her eyes closed. Knees shook. Kit knew he was pleasing her and that pleased him. He'd been good at this - oral. Knew that not too many men were willing to take the time to do it properly, to listen, to learn. But for him, one of the greatest turn ons was his partner's pleasure and he'd practiced to that end.

"I need ta lay down if yar gonna do that!" Jude suddenly gripped his hair.

He chuckled, looking up at her. "Yes, ma'am." His toe pulled the plug.

This was much better. Spread across the bed he could much more genuinely appreciate the beauty of his partner - the planes and curves of her in the muted starlight. And he was delighted to discover she was a noisy lover, unashamed to beg and curse and unleash the animal sounds humans had avoided since their evolution. Jude let passion make her primitive.

He teased her for a while - licking patterns and sucking until she bucked before backing off. She enjoyed the torture. Her own hands kneading her breasts told him so. He would have told her how damn sexy it was, but he was determined to taste her orgasm, slipping his fingers into play with his mouth.

The ploy worked. She let him work her to a fever pitch, greedy for the ribbons of joy wrapping her spine. But her tolerance waned. She grew impatient for the little death. "That's enough, Kit," she mewled. "Please!" Her knees opened wide. "Make me come, now."

He focused his attentions. The sucking. The rubbing that one spot… She unraveled quietly. Intensely. Her body drew up like a snake preparing to strike before a final, gasping release.

"Fuck, you feel so good now," Kit breathed in her ear, sliding into her hot, wet, worked orifice. "So wet and so sweet, Jude."

"Good, baby," she managed, breathing through his rough thrusts.

"I wanna fuck you about a thousand ways." He turned her slightly sideways, curving a thigh over his, still pumping within her. "Can I?"

"Do whatcha want. I'm yars." She gripped the duvet, groaned into it.

"Hell, Jude." He turned her once more, raising her ass and squeezing it as he slid in and out of her from behind. "Say that again."

"I'm yars, Kit!" She spat over her shoulder. "Keep fuckin' me this good, and I'm yars forevah."

"I like the sound of that. Lay down." On her stomach, he pressed her into the mattress, worked a hand underneath her belly and down until she squealed. "Yeah, there's the spot," he murmured in her ear. "That feel good?" She nodded, groaning, toes curling so hard they hurt. "Yeah, it does," he agreed, aching. He put a twist in his hips now, screwing her hard and slow. "Gonna come for me again?"

"I - yes!" She whispered, concentrating on the new sensation his cock was creating. "Oh, God…"

"Pray fer both of us, Judy." He sped up - just enough to get her panting. Pulled on her hair until she groaned. "Yer tight as an oil valve. Mm. Come on, now." Her body tensed again. He could feel the fluid seeping onto his hand still cupping her cunt. "That's it, Judy. Nice and pretty. Lemme feel ya let go." And just that easy… "Yes, sweetheart. Fuck, there she is! Shit, Jude!" He dirty talked her through her third gut-clenching ecstasy, coming inside her soon after on a few sloppy shoves.

"Jesus…" Kit collapsed on her back, loving kisses peppering her sticky shoulders. "You okay, Jude?"

"Mmhm." She pushed up on elbows, blew bangs out of her face. "I'm...great, Kit."

He pulled out of her with a grunt, flopping into the hastily cast aside pillows and slapping her ass. "Jude." For some reason, he was laughing, rubbing at his face as he stared at the ceiling. "What the _fuck _was that?"

"That -" she reached over him for the cigarettes on the nightstand " - was reason numbah one to get yarself an oldah woman."

"No shit." He pawed at her breasts while she lit her smoke. "You were...I mean, you were amazing, Jude."

She chuckled. "Nice ta know I still got it." Modesty wasn't an issue. She sat beside him against the headboard butt naked, smoking. They shared the cigarette. "You know. You weren't too bad yarself, Kit."

"I'll get better with practice."

"I'll clear my schedule far yar lessons."

He sobered, staring at her smiling profile. "Jude. I lo-"

"Let's get some water." She slapped his knee sharply. "I'm dehydrated." He watched her leave the bedroom, blinking, before following her to the kitchen.

The secret smile gained a new meaning after that night. And perhaps Kit developed his own. Secret smiles they shared over the children's heads. Secret smiles they shared when they leaned against that porch railing, when they made love quietly in the wee hours, before they kissed, after shared showers, during the kids' favorite show…

Together. Alone. The secret smile knows no boundaries - no limitations. It is more than an expression, and more powerful than death. More powerful than any mystery, or any horror imagined or real. It heals. It seals souls together.

It breaks apart the dark.


End file.
